<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Dagger by Pyxidis</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24465508">Dagger</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyxidis/pseuds/Pyxidis'>Pyxidis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Mirage Squad [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:47:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,351</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24465508</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyxidis/pseuds/Pyxidis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sergeant Dagger had a future in the GAR.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Mirage Squad [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1767124</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A boy and his knife</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p><b>Chapter Summary: </b>CT-8964 gets his name.</p><hr/><p>CT-8964 peeked over the edge of the platform, spinning his newly acquired prize between his fingers. </p><p>He was very careful, because as cadets they were taught that anything could be weapons, but the ones that were truly made for war were beautiful and should be treated as such. Perhaps not in those exact words, but he'd caught the sentiment, and now he couldn't help but let his eyes linger on the hidden sharp things strapped to the True Mandalorian Instructors - those blades that cut through skin and bone like butter, like there was nothing but air standing on its deadly carved path.</p><p>He gripped the handle of the blade and held it up in the meager light. It was the designated night cycle, but the barracks were too dark to properly see the quarry he'd oh-so-carefully snuck out of the trainer's leg strap and hurriedly tucked inside the sleeve of his shirt. Luckily, he had been on his way to the barracks with the rest of his batchmates, and the trainer had been walking the opposite way.</p><p>And the blade had been sticking slightly out of its sheath, in the absolute perfect angle to just... swipe.</p><p>And it was beautiful.</p><p>He leaned down, squinting. It was smaller than other knives he'd seen before; flatter too, including the handle, though the weight felt about the same as a regular knife. He laid the blade across his outstretched finger - right on its middle - and held it aloft; perfectly balanced.</p><p>He'd handled vibroknives before, in training - took pride in being able to beat anyone when he held it. It was a steady point of focus for him, a part of him that kept him calm on and off of the mats. He'd play with the knives used for meals, learned to twirl it like the trainers, the way he liked - made it a habit. They grounded him and diverted his restlessness to somewhere useful, a skill for survival.</p><p>But he had a feeling that this knife was made for something else. He turned it over, careful of the edges. He went back to the handle. He closed his hand around it, brought it up to his face... And froze.</p><p>A familiar helmet glinted in the corridor light.</p><p>Aur Buln the Kel Dor True Mandalorian Instructor - the rightful owner of the knife - looked at CT-8964, the three year old cadet who'd taken their knife without notice.</p><p>That is, it would have been without notice, if Aur Buln had absolutely no trace of Force Sensitivity.</p><p>As it was, the two were momentarily stuck in an unprecedented staring contest - one face masked by a cold, unfeeling helmet; the other face, partially in shadow, but doing a poor job of hiding the horrified expression of a standard six-year-old child holding a stolen weapon in a clone army facility past curfew.</p><p>CT-8964 swallowed harshly. "Will you report me, sir?" he asked, bravely, through the rattling tone of his voice.</p><p>The instructor did not move or speak for about half a minute. They then tilted their head. "No."</p><p>The cadet clutched the knife, bringing it closer to his chest. "Why?"</p><p>The Kel Dor did not answer. They instead brought up their hand and motioned for him to come. Not waiting for a reaction, they turned and left the room.</p><p>For a brief, startling moment, CT-8964 thought of running away. </p><p>CT-8964 pursed his lips and ran after the True Mandalorian.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>The trip to the training room was a relatively brief one, the white hallways of the Kaminoan complex a touch grimmer in the emptiness, in the shadows that slid over the curves of the walls, the darkness never allowed to gather in a corner. The unnatural sliminess of the dark made CT-8964 hesitant to wade through it again.</p><p>But the Kel Dor Instructor did not stop, their steps steady and sure, and so the cadet darted up behind them, footsteps echoing in the near silence.</p><p>The door slid open, and the Mandalorian Instructor slipped inside. After a beat, he followed.</p><p>There were the mats, perfectly positioned from the ruffled state the cadets had left it. 99 must have done it; he was very particular and proper about the training rooms. He didn’t want anyone hurt from malfunctioning gear. It was basic human kindness, but it was never just that for 99, and he was loved dearly for it. That’s how CT-8964 knew that they were well taken care of, that the room was <em> safe, </em>and he slowly relaxed his shoulders.</p><p>Here, he knew how to defend himself. Here, he could fight for his life. His thumb brushed the middle of the knife.</p><p>The Kel Dor stood across from his place near the door. They beckoned him forward.</p><p>CT-8964 stepped forward, paused, assessed. The instructor did nothing. He took another step, then another, until he was right in front of them. </p><p>They stepped aside, and he immediately took note of the target for blaster practice. </p><p>“Hit that,” they said.</p><p>He furrowed his eyebrows. Turned to look at the rack of practice blasters.</p><p>“No,” the instructor said. His head whipped toward the Kel Dor. “Use what you have.”</p><p>He looked down at the knife. He looked at how thin it was, how it would probably slice through air just as well as a vibroblade. It was perfectly balanced; he wondered what it would look like when he let go of it. Would it fall straight down? Would it spin?</p><p>He took a step back. He directed all of his focus on the target - breathed in. Breathed out. Lifted his hand, behind his head. </p><p>
  <em> Aim. </em>
</p><p>Brought his arm forward, flicked his wrist - </p><p>
  <em> Fire -  </em>
</p><p>- and let the knife go.</p><p>A loud <em> thunk </em> rang through the room. Soft footsteps padded through mats and onto hard floor, farther and farther away. He dared not breathe.</p><p>“Good,” said Aur Buln, voice lax and settled. </p><p>CT-8964 opened his eyes (when did he close them?). He sucked in a breath. Blinked. </p><p>Right in the middle. Blade-first.</p><p>His ears buzzed.</p><p>“I’ve seen you with vibroknives, and now with this particular one… What do you say about trying a dagger next time?”</p><p>CT-8964 could hear the smile behind their helmet.</p><p>He nodded.</p><p>“Yes, sir.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <b>Notes: </b>
</p><p>The first of many! At least, I hope so. This is definitely not the only chapter for this particular story. However, I will post the rest of Mirage Squad’s stories first or I’ll never introduce them all, hah.</p><p>And shoutout to Les and lastbattlecry, my beta readers, for helping me increase the quality of my works.</p><hr/><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Fordo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p><b>Chapter Summary: </b>Dagger meets his idol.</p><hr/><p>“If you cannot shoot,” the True Mandalorian Instructor said, voice harsh through his helmet, “you will not survive.”</p><p>Dagger looked up at the horned helmet of Daro-Mun Duun, face blank and impassive as the helmet’s. His eyes were clear. His hands were shaking. He clutched the blaster rifle, fingers white from the strain.</p><p>“If you do not shoot, your batchmates will die.”</p><p>He knew what had been left unspoken: <em> it will be your fault that your vode are dead. </em></p><p>The very thought choked him, drove him to silence. The Kajain’sa’Nikto instructor stared, helmet dangerously expressionless. Dagger desperately wanted to answer, but he feared that if he opened his mouth the only audible thing would be the long, mournful whine he could feel building in his throat. And showing weakness was a one-way ticket to being decommissioned.</p><p>The long, disappointed sigh that broke the fragile quiet in the training room made his stomach churn. “At least think about your own safety if you do not care for your squad’s,” he said, before moving on to another cadet squad.</p><p>Dagger looked down, eyes burning. He refused to look at his batchmates - though they knew his struggle, the instructor’s words left him with an inordinate amount of deep shame. </p><p>(He won’t cry. If he couldn’t talk, he certainly <em> would not </em> cry, either.)</p><p>He ignored Cascade, who had a natural talent for blasters but struggled with strategy; Lance, who crashed in the piloting simulators every week but held so fierce a love for flying that he continued on; Sibyl and Karma, who got up after every loss in hand-to-hand, despite being in primarily communications and medical training respectively.</p><p>His vision narrowed onto the blaster rifle in his hand, and he became deathly still. His breathing became even - too even. Deliberate. </p><p>He ignored his batchmates’ sympathetic looks and his own common sense. As soon as he felt his lip wobble, he set down his blaster rifle, turned on his heel, and slipped out the door.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Dagger had snuck into the barracks, retrieved his throwing knives, and managed to find his way into an empty blaster range, opposite the route he and his batchmates had taken that early afternoon. He would have thought it strange, if he’d been of a clearer mind, but all he could think about in that moment - all he would <em> let </em> himself think about - was that he had to <em> throw </em> something. </p><p>And he did.</p><p><em> Thud. Thud. Thud. </em> He would walk over to the target, pulling the knives out with a relish, get back into position and throw them again. He would hit the middle of the target - most of the time. Other throws strayed. He threw, again and again,  because he had to be <em> better. </em></p><p>Half an hour passed. And then the doors opened.</p><p>At the unexpected sound he whirled, knife in hand, arm drawn back - and, to his horror, he automatically let go, the knife heading straight toward the intruder.</p><p><em> “No!” </em> he cried, closing his eyes and hands shooting up to cover his terrified face. He didn’t want to see- he didn’t want to hear- </p><p>But he waited for the sound of that solid <em> thunk, </em> of a knife sliding home in a solid body, the sound of a body hitting the ground - a thunderous sound of condemnation.</p><p>But no sound came.</p><p>Dagger warily opened his eyes, peeking between his fingers - and gasped. </p><p>The knife was situated perfectly between two palms pressed together, inches before an unprotected chest. And the person who’d caught the knife…</p><p>He was a cadet - that much was obvious. But he was - older. Not quite fully grown, but close. Very close.</p><p>There were only two kinds of vode who were fast-grown this way. And the Nulls were always with Trainer Skirata.</p><p><em>“N- ni ceta,”</em> Dagger said, voice wobbly.</p><p>The ARC trooper didn’t seem to hear - he’d already taken the opportunity to inspect the knife that had been thrown at him. </p><p>“Good throw,” the ARC trooper said, flipping the knife over. He spun it around his fingers, then stopped to grip at the handle. “Aur Buln’s?”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” Dagger replied, voice near inaudible.</p><p>The ARC trooper hummed. He sounded… pleased. “A-77. Not quite a sir yet, <em>vod</em>.”</p><p>“D- CT-8964.”</p><p>A-77 raised an eyebrow. Dagger flushed, inwardly cursing his slip of the tongue. “A name, huh?”</p><p>Dagger didn’t have the opportunity to answer - or, not answer, as it were; the ARC trooper stepped up in front of him, then crouched. A-77 held out the knife, like a peace offering. “Mine’s Fordo. No one else knows but my batch. Keep it that way, yeah?”</p><p>Dagger stilled. He took the knife, clutching the handle tightly. “Yes, sir,” he whispered. Then: “M-my name’s Dagger.”</p><p>A-77 - Fordo - smiled. “Nice to meet you, Dagger.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>He came back to Daro-Mun Duun’s training session a few minutes before it officially ended, escorted by Fordo. Cascade nearly dropped his blaster rifle. Karma looked worriedly between Dagger and the ARC trooper, eyes lingering on Fordo’s smirk and his wayward batchmate’s neutral expression. Lance’s eyes widened, hands shooting up over his mouth to stifle any babbling that might occur. Sibyl turned pale.</p><p>“I egged him on. Couldn’t refuse me, so I kept him till A-17 told me to give him back,” the ARC trooper said. There was durasteel underneath the surprisingly fond tone of voice he’d taken.</p><p>The Kajain’sa’Nikto instructor grunted. He crossed his arms, helmet tilted, as if he were a master studying a particularly mischievous, stubborn pack of dogs. </p><p>Fordo remained terrifyingly unphased. “Pick up a blaster, <em>vod</em>,” he said, clapping a hand on Dagger’s shoulder.</p><p>Dagger gave a tiny nod. “Sir,” he said, then headed for the nearest blaster rifle. He picked it up - held it, just for a moment - then slid into the proper stance.</p><p>“Remember what I said,” Fordo said. His voice was now hard. Commanding.</p><p>“Yes, sir,” he said, nigh higher than a whisper. He fired-</p><p>And his batchmates scrambled to press around him.</p><p>Right on the target.</p><p>Suddenly other targets popped up - but Dagger was ready. He fired without hesitation. <em> Aim-Fire. Aim-Fire. Aim-Fire. </em></p><p>By the time he was done, every single target had been hit, most of them having a burn mark right in the middle. Dagger exhaled, slowly.</p><p>He looked back - and locked eyes with Fordo.</p><p><em>“Vor entye,”</em> he said. He bit his lip before he could say something even more damning.</p><p>Like <em>ori’vod</em>.</p><p>The ARC trooper gave Dagger a small nod. <em>“Ba'gedet'ye, vod,”</em> he said. With a polite salute towards Daro-Mun Duun, he left.</p><p>His batchmates surrounded him - they clapped his back, tugged on his arms, swung their own arms around his shoulders - as the True Mandalorian Instructor stared at the door Fordo just went through, a finger over the chin of his helmet.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>A week later, Squad 89 started going by Entye Squad.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <b>Notes: </b>
</p><p>Turns out Dagger really, really, really wanted to be written again, so I caved and here’s the second chapter.</p><p>I know I said I wouldn’t update the already-posted members of Mirage Squad until <em> everyone </em> was posted, but inspiration strikes when it wants to. I think from now on I’ll let myself write another chapter for previously established Mirage Squad <em>vode</em>, while being careful not to neglect the next <em>vod</em>’s debut.</p><p>Special thanks to RogueLadyVader for beta reading!</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>MANDO'A</strong>
</p><p>Vode: Brothers, sisters, siblings</p><p>Ni ceta: Sorry (literally "I kneel"); groveling apology</p><p>Vod: Brother, sister, sibling</p><p>Vor entye: Thank you (literally "I accept a debt")</p><p>Ori'vod: Older brother, sister, or sibling</p><p>Ba'gedet'ye: You're welcome</p><p>Entye: Debt</p><hr/><p> </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>